(Rebecca Clark continued from Last of the Alderbrooks)
A few moments later she heard the distant sound of a door shutting. Somewhere in Rebecca’s mind she questioned if they had lied about the others being dead.
Her suspicions vanished moments later when two men, both appearing to be in their mid-twenties showed up in front of her. Both were tall and looked to be in shape, their clothes suggested stereotypical ranchers, overalls with plaid shirts underneath and cowboy hats. What did not suggest ranchers were the sleek, modern sunglasses they both wore and the large militaristic looking rifles they both carried.
“Geddup bitch.”
She slowly obeyed with a grunt of pain. Her body was much more comfortable bleeding in the seat than it was standing. She thought one cracked a slight smile, but before she could think about being offended the other prodded her with the rifle, indicating to her that she should walk.
She was unnerved by the fact they had only spoken to her once, as they both followed behind her silently as she went to the rear of the train before they indicated she should climb down the back onto the tracks behind her.
Once she climbed down, she considered that she could be hallucinating when she saw the red Ford Mustang on the prairie in front of her. “The fu-“ she started before one of the men cut her off with two simple words.
“Get in.”
In an action that in other contexts would seem gentlemanly the man that had spoken held the back car door open for her before slamming it once she got inside. A few moments later he’d gotten inside and sat next to her. The other man took the passenger seat in the front seat, and that’s when Rebecca focused and ultimately noticed the woman in the driver’s seat.
She looked older than the men; in her early 30’s Rebecca would guess. She, like the men was dressed in semi-western apparel: blue jeans, a plaid shirt, and a ragged black vest. Unlike the men, she wore no hat, leaving her dirty blonde hair back in a ponytail.
Also unlike the men, she chattered. The only bit Rebecca bothered to catch as the car started up was her name, Clementine; beyond that Rebecca just tuned it all out, both Clementine and the awful country music that she noticed was coming out of the car’s speakers. She didn’t care about Clementine, she cared that she was fucking bleeding.
She let out a slight groan. “You know I’m hurt right?” Her voice was weak and uncertain. “Of course, Becky” Clementine responded in a cheery voice. Rebecca scowled. Only Amelia called her Becky. She may have been imagining it, but she thought that the music got turned up after that.
As they drove, guilt started to drift into her brain to a greater extent than before. Funny how that worked, be at a much lower chance of dying horribly and suddenly she could feel bad about it. Rebecca wondered about home. Did people know why they were missing? Her blood ran cold. Did they know yet what she had done? Her stomach twisted painfully as she thought about how her main group, the theater kids, wouldn’t be the same again because of this. Not just because of the kidnappings that had led to the deaths of several, like Amelia or Delilah, but also those that Rebecca had killed herself. She didn’t like thinking about them, Sam, Alex, even Katie’s death was mostly her fault.
The thought entered her mind for the first time. Did she have anything to go home to?
After about a half hour of driving she started to feel drowsy. She wouldn’t let herself though, she wasn’t sure if she’d slip into sleep, which would be fine, or unconsciousness or death, which weren’t what she had in mind. Part of her drowsy mind wondered why the car drove so smoothly off-road.
It took another half hour for the car to come to a stop. The man in the front seat came out and opened her door while the one that was still sitting said what Rebecca assumed was his trademark.
“Geddup bitch.”
She half stepped, half fell, out of the car, crying from the pain as her leg made contact with the ground. The man holding the car door open smiled again.
Fuckin’ sadist.
Yeah but you’re a murderer.
He probably is too! Plus they made me.
She looked down at the dirt of the prairie, not wanting to meet his gaze. There was no building in sight here. She was sure that they’d make her dig her own grave or some equally disturbing task when Clementine exited the car and gave her a bright smile.
The three of her captors started to talk amongst themselves, with Clementine having produced an electronic tablet in a leather case from some compartment inside the car.
“The hatch should be around here. Go look, I’ll watch her,” she said still smiling. The two men circled around the prairie for a few minutes, while Clementine pointed a shiny revolver at Rebecca’s chest, grinning at her all the while.
Rebecca didn’t like this, but at least the music was off and Clementine had shut up. She simply tried to do her best to ignore the revolver. It was out of her control. After a few minutes one of the men came back saying he’d found the hatch, whatever that was.
That Clementine bitch somehow managed to smile even wider, seeming gleeful that the hatch been found. “Oh goodie goodie goodie,” she exclaimed loudly, before grabbing Rebecca’s arm and dragging her after the men.
Rebecca, still feeling weak, cried and whimpered at the rough treatment from Clementine, which earned her a cheerful “Oh cheer up!” from her captor. Rebecca glared and considered that killing Clementine might be the first kill she actually enjoyed.
Then she saw the hatch. It didn’t look like much, just a steel handle sticking out of the dirt. One of the men pulled it open, revealing metal rungs along a wall, leading down into what looked like some kind of bunker. Rebecca did not want to go down there. Going down into the mines had been bad enough. She shivered at the memories of what had happened down there.
Clementine interrupted her thoughts in her usual cheery tone. “Hurry up, honey pie, we don’t have all day.” Honey pie!? Rebecca looked down again to avoid seeing that creepy smile. Rebecca reluctantly climbed down the ladder, feeling the warm metal in her hands. She cried out in pain multiple times from her wounds, feeling blood seeping through her bandages and dripping through her pants and down onto her shoes.
After she reached the bottom, Clementine and the men quickly scrambled down the ladder after her. One of the men, in their usual short and gruff tone told her to “walk.” So she walked down the brutal concrete hallway, grimacing from the pain in the meanwhile. They told her to stop and enter through a plain metal door. She opened it up and saw what looked like a hospital bed and other medical equipment.
She heard Clementine’s voice say “night night, sweetie” and then felt a stab of pain in her lower back. The room spun and then everything went black.
Virtua-SOTF Epilogue: Loading Sequence
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Awareness returned slowly. First she could hear again with occasional beeping sounds and the humming of fans. Then she was able to open her eyes slightly, enough to see that lights were on in the room. She felt drowsy and heavy and it was hard to tell how much time had passed. Eventually she was aware enough and able to keep her eyes open long enough to see the drip in her arm. She also noticed how vulnerable she felt in just a hospital gown. The thought occurred to her that she should press the call button that was surely there, but when she looked there wasn’t one.
I guess crazed kidnappers do offer medical care.
Eventually curiosity got the best of her and she shifted uncomfortably in the hospital bed to inspect her injuries. Or would have, had they still existed. All she found on her leg and hip was scarring, with no remaining cuts or wounds. How long had they kept her out for? A more frightening thought occurred to her, how long had she been away from home and did they know where she had gone? Or what she had done?
She wished for something to take her mind off that thought. It came in the form of gratitude when she realized the collar was no longer around her neck. It was a small taste of freedom. Rebecca wasn’t free though, not yet. She was still in the bunker, or she assumed so. A paranoid part of her mind wondered if they had moved her while she was out. It wouldn’t surprise her. They had knocked her out once and then she had woken up in The Zone with a bow and arrow.
That seemed like such a long time ago even if it had only been what she assumed were a few days. Depending on how long she was out it may have been a week. She wasn’t sure.
Eventually she drifted off again, eventually waking to a nurse wordlessly removing the drip from her arm. Rebecca would have liked more information, but she assumed it meant she was healthy enough to take in her own fluids. That was something of a relief.
Unfortunately, things took a turn for a worse when that bitch Clementine walked in. Rebecca knew that she wasn’t there just to do her job when she slid into the bed next to her and put her arm around her shoulders. The thought of getting up and running away crossed her mind, but she figured that would just get her shot. She had been shot enough. Instead, she settled for squirming her hips and legs a couple inches further away.
Rebecca shot a death glare, while her thoughts drifted from flight to the idea of murder. It could be like with Clair, stab Clementine with an arrow and have that be the end of it. Of course it wouldn’t be, that would be a death sentence. She gritted her teeth while Clementine’s grip tightened. They sat there in silence for a few moments before Rebecca caved, hoping that talking would speed things up.
“How long was I out?”
“Long enough.”
That wasn’t very fucking helpful, but she kept talking in hopes that Clementine would go away.
“I was just asking because my wounds are healed, just have scars,” she remarked impatiently.
Clementine rolled her hazel eyes at Rebecca. “What does it matter to you? Have somewhere to be?” Her tone was cheerful like before even as her expression communicated to Rebecca extreme disdain.
Rebecca felt anger building up in her like it had so much in her time away from home. “Yeah. Home.” It was blunt and to the point, but beyond staying alive wasn’t that what she had been fighting for? She wanted to go home, see her parents, be able to turn her stereo up a little too loud, and maybe go to a silly high school party and have some drinks again. That was her life and she wanted it back.
Clementine laughed in her fucking face. “Like you’ll choose to do that. because honey? You’re a murderer, they all hate you.”
Rebecca’s clawed hand was quickly pulled back, missing the target of Clementine’s face. Her anger gave way to fear as the older woman used her advantageous position to pin Rebecca to the bed. Her eyes widened in horror, as she looked up at Clementine’s now furious looking face. The woman’s voice was still cheerful, but the words were mocking. “That’s what you always do, isn’t it? Someone says something you don’t like, and bam, it’s time to kill them, right?”
Rebecca’s jaw clenched tight. It was true. She didn’t like being challenged about what she had done. But she killed her classmates because she had to. Why didn’t anyone else get that? She couldn’t change the past, and as sorry as she felt for what she had done, and she was, she had told Katie so, she couldn’t change it.
Her voice was small and quiet. “You made me.” Rebecca’s eyes were watering, and she felt so weak about the possibility of crying in front of this crazy bitch. Clementine’s face was closer now, only inches from her own, her voice quiet and having lost its cheerfulness. “You killed a dozen people. That’s over twice as much as anyone else. Be goddamn honest with yourself.”
Rebecca couldn’t listen to this. She had started to cry, and she squirmed, trying to get out of the pin Clementine had her in. It earned her a harsh slap to the cheek. “Are you going to be good now, honey pie?” Rebecca whimpered in response, feeling weak and humiliated. “Good, now let’s look at those scars,” Clementine let out a soft giggle. “You got me curious.”
Rebecca shuddered and closed her eyes. Clementine sounded friendly again, but it wasn’t like telling her to fuck off and go away would do anything other than make her angry. She felt Clementine’s hand touch her lower leg, where she had been shot. The hands felt calloused, but the touch was light. After that Rebecca felt it slowly trace up her leg even though there was no scarring there. She wanted to scream at Clementine to just hurry up, but her cheek still stung and that was enough to keep her quiet now.
Her body jumped when she felt her hospital gown being pulled up over her hip. She felt Clementine’s other hand grip her thigh tightly. “Keep still.” Rebecca sniffed, and didn’t move again. “Well, I guess the doc did patch you up right here. Just scars.” She could feel Clementine pat her previously injured hip a couple times.
Rebecca felt breath in her previously torn ear. “Well I guess I’ll go now, honey pie. See you around.” Rebecca said nothing. She kept still. She knew Clementine was still there, but she kept her eyes closed. It felt like forever, but eventually Clementine got off of her. Rebecca kept quiet and still until she heard the door close behind that bitch.
She let out a shriek of anger. The lumpy hospital pillow quickly received several punches, before she threw it against the nearby wall. Her breathing was fast; her forehead had formed a sheen of sweat. Why did they have to toy with her? Was dropping her in The Zone and making her kill her classmates not enough? They were some sick fucks.
She had trouble keeping her anger up for long like she had in The Zone. She felt sad and scared. Had Clementine been telling her the truth? Did everyone hate her? Wait, how did they even know what she had done? The thought concerned her. She had done everything with the thought of survival. It hadn’t occurred to her that, beyond losing her friends and classmates, that she would be anything to anyone other than the sole survivor of a terrorist attack.
She wasn’t sure she could handle the possibility of everyone knowing what she had done and judging her for it.
Rebecca cried a bit before, feeling worn out again, she fell into a light doze, sans pillow.
I guess crazed kidnappers do offer medical care.
Eventually curiosity got the best of her and she shifted uncomfortably in the hospital bed to inspect her injuries. Or would have, had they still existed. All she found on her leg and hip was scarring, with no remaining cuts or wounds. How long had they kept her out for? A more frightening thought occurred to her, how long had she been away from home and did they know where she had gone? Or what she had done?
She wished for something to take her mind off that thought. It came in the form of gratitude when she realized the collar was no longer around her neck. It was a small taste of freedom. Rebecca wasn’t free though, not yet. She was still in the bunker, or she assumed so. A paranoid part of her mind wondered if they had moved her while she was out. It wouldn’t surprise her. They had knocked her out once and then she had woken up in The Zone with a bow and arrow.
That seemed like such a long time ago even if it had only been what she assumed were a few days. Depending on how long she was out it may have been a week. She wasn’t sure.
Eventually she drifted off again, eventually waking to a nurse wordlessly removing the drip from her arm. Rebecca would have liked more information, but she assumed it meant she was healthy enough to take in her own fluids. That was something of a relief.
Unfortunately, things took a turn for a worse when that bitch Clementine walked in. Rebecca knew that she wasn’t there just to do her job when she slid into the bed next to her and put her arm around her shoulders. The thought of getting up and running away crossed her mind, but she figured that would just get her shot. She had been shot enough. Instead, she settled for squirming her hips and legs a couple inches further away.
Rebecca shot a death glare, while her thoughts drifted from flight to the idea of murder. It could be like with Clair, stab Clementine with an arrow and have that be the end of it. Of course it wouldn’t be, that would be a death sentence. She gritted her teeth while Clementine’s grip tightened. They sat there in silence for a few moments before Rebecca caved, hoping that talking would speed things up.
“How long was I out?”
“Long enough.”
That wasn’t very fucking helpful, but she kept talking in hopes that Clementine would go away.
“I was just asking because my wounds are healed, just have scars,” she remarked impatiently.
Clementine rolled her hazel eyes at Rebecca. “What does it matter to you? Have somewhere to be?” Her tone was cheerful like before even as her expression communicated to Rebecca extreme disdain.
Rebecca felt anger building up in her like it had so much in her time away from home. “Yeah. Home.” It was blunt and to the point, but beyond staying alive wasn’t that what she had been fighting for? She wanted to go home, see her parents, be able to turn her stereo up a little too loud, and maybe go to a silly high school party and have some drinks again. That was her life and she wanted it back.
Clementine laughed in her fucking face. “Like you’ll choose to do that. because honey? You’re a murderer, they all hate you.”
Rebecca’s clawed hand was quickly pulled back, missing the target of Clementine’s face. Her anger gave way to fear as the older woman used her advantageous position to pin Rebecca to the bed. Her eyes widened in horror, as she looked up at Clementine’s now furious looking face. The woman’s voice was still cheerful, but the words were mocking. “That’s what you always do, isn’t it? Someone says something you don’t like, and bam, it’s time to kill them, right?”
Rebecca’s jaw clenched tight. It was true. She didn’t like being challenged about what she had done. But she killed her classmates because she had to. Why didn’t anyone else get that? She couldn’t change the past, and as sorry as she felt for what she had done, and she was, she had told Katie so, she couldn’t change it.
Her voice was small and quiet. “You made me.” Rebecca’s eyes were watering, and she felt so weak about the possibility of crying in front of this crazy bitch. Clementine’s face was closer now, only inches from her own, her voice quiet and having lost its cheerfulness. “You killed a dozen people. That’s over twice as much as anyone else. Be goddamn honest with yourself.”
Rebecca couldn’t listen to this. She had started to cry, and she squirmed, trying to get out of the pin Clementine had her in. It earned her a harsh slap to the cheek. “Are you going to be good now, honey pie?” Rebecca whimpered in response, feeling weak and humiliated. “Good, now let’s look at those scars,” Clementine let out a soft giggle. “You got me curious.”
Rebecca shuddered and closed her eyes. Clementine sounded friendly again, but it wasn’t like telling her to fuck off and go away would do anything other than make her angry. She felt Clementine’s hand touch her lower leg, where she had been shot. The hands felt calloused, but the touch was light. After that Rebecca felt it slowly trace up her leg even though there was no scarring there. She wanted to scream at Clementine to just hurry up, but her cheek still stung and that was enough to keep her quiet now.
Her body jumped when she felt her hospital gown being pulled up over her hip. She felt Clementine’s other hand grip her thigh tightly. “Keep still.” Rebecca sniffed, and didn’t move again. “Well, I guess the doc did patch you up right here. Just scars.” She could feel Clementine pat her previously injured hip a couple times.
Rebecca felt breath in her previously torn ear. “Well I guess I’ll go now, honey pie. See you around.” Rebecca said nothing. She kept still. She knew Clementine was still there, but she kept her eyes closed. It felt like forever, but eventually Clementine got off of her. Rebecca kept quiet and still until she heard the door close behind that bitch.
She let out a shriek of anger. The lumpy hospital pillow quickly received several punches, before she threw it against the nearby wall. Her breathing was fast; her forehead had formed a sheen of sweat. Why did they have to toy with her? Was dropping her in The Zone and making her kill her classmates not enough? They were some sick fucks.
She had trouble keeping her anger up for long like she had in The Zone. She felt sad and scared. Had Clementine been telling her the truth? Did everyone hate her? Wait, how did they even know what she had done? The thought concerned her. She had done everything with the thought of survival. It hadn’t occurred to her that, beyond losing her friends and classmates, that she would be anything to anyone other than the sole survivor of a terrorist attack.
She wasn’t sure she could handle the possibility of everyone knowing what she had done and judging her for it.
Rebecca cried a bit before, feeling worn out again, she fell into a light doze, sans pillow.
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She was woken up by some dipshit poking her in the face. Rebecca glared at one of the men who had escorted her from the train to the bunker.
“Geddup bitch.”
Of fucking course.
She got out of the bed, the concrete floor feeling cold under her bare feet.
The man spoke something other than his signature phrase. “There’s clothes in the drawer over there. Get dressed and meet me outside. You’re meetin’ the sheriff today.”
That surprised her for whatever reason. She hadn’t given much thought to what would happen for the rest of her stay. Rebecca didn’t want to give a lot of thought to it. “Well you’re fuckin’ chatty today,” she remarked. The man didn’t react to her statement and went outside, as promised.
She opened the drawer, to inspect the clothes that had been left inside for her. Fresh underwear, that was useful. It also had light blue jeans, a checkered purple and white plaid shirt, and fuckin’ black leather cowboy boots. Now that part was just silly. She didn’t have much of a choice now did she? She had last had real choices a long time ago. Brushing that depressing thought aside, she got dressed in the new clothes and joined the man out in the hall.
The man didn’t act so chatty now. He just recognized that she was there and then led her down a maze of hallways. Despite the impatience she felt to get whatever was happening over with, she almost enjoyed the walk. There was something about being rested and no longer having a bullet wound in her leg that contributed to that.
Eventually the man knocked on a metal door and Rebecca heard a familiar voice say “Let er in.” With that the man opened the door, before walking off down the hallways again. She didn’t really want to go inside, but again, choice had been taken away from her. She made eye contact with the man behind the dark wooden desk inside, noticing the red beard and the silly cowboy hat. She sighed and took a seat in the provided metal folding chair.
“So you’re the Sheriff.”
“A’yup.”
They both sat in silence for a few moments. Rebecca felt the beginnings of anger deep in her gut. How could this sicko be so nonchalant after having orchestrated the deaths of roughly fifty kids? Her jaw clenched tightly.
The Sheriff smiled widely at her, revealing perfectly white and straight teeth. “So ye won, how’s that jerky taste?”
Rebecca’s mouth hung open for a moment, a brief second of confusion. It was such an odd expression. “Tastes like shit.” She scowled at him.
The Sheriff let out a chuckle, laugh lines creasing around his mouth. “But at least ya can taste it, eh?” His words hung in the air as Rebecca sat and thought.
Yes, she was glad to be alive, but being kept in a bunker by the terrorists that had taken her off the train wasn’t how she liked to imagine her life. “I guess so,” she said, sounding defeated. She slumped in the chair, no longer being able to meet the Sheriff’s gaze.
“I didn’t expect it, had ye pegged as an early out, or someone who’d need her friends to have a chance.” Rebecca sat there in stunned silence, for whatever reason she was surprised that the Sheriff had given much thought to who would survive. “You didn’t do either. Why?”
“I had to,” she responded, with a hint of anger hanging in the air between them. She remembered Clementine’s words, and the urge to throw something returned, like she had done with the pillow.
“Well maybe, but so many of your friends killed themselves on accident or through suicide, that I wonder if I’d given ya a few more days, if you woulda all died of natural causes.”
Rebecca’s hands clenched into fists in her lap, the anger continuing to rise. What was with these people? They told her to kill and she did it, and then once she’d done it, they acted like it was unnecessary or she had gone too far.
“Speakin’ of, your friend Amelia had a message to get passed onto ya.” Rebecca’s fists unclenched, her anger faded a bit. The guilt was back, telling her she was a shitty friend for focusing on herself in The Zone, instead of worrying about friends like Amelia. Amelia, who had jumped off a cliff instead of continuing to deal with that horrible place. “Samuel and Renee were s’posed to tell ya, but you weren’t in a listnin’ mood, now were ya?”
Rebecca’s voice was quiet. “What was it?” She was expecting something about how she was a horrible person, who deserved to die. That seemed to be the dominant opinion of people she came across. She was surprised she asked either, it wasn’t like Samuel or Renee had been holding her in particularly high opinion, especially Renee the leg shooter.
“Well uhh, long story short, she thought ye and Katie were great friends, uhh that she’d miss ya, and she was sorry about the tumblin’ down the mountain thing.”
Rebecca blinked once. Twice. Three times before the tears started to fall and a sob wracked her frame. Amelia had still thought she was great, and she had failed to look out for her friends at all. Heck, she was indirectly responsible for Katie falling off the train, and had been trying to kill her anyway. Would she still have thought Rebecca was a good friend now? She doubted it.
“Aw shit, that wasn’t s’posed to be a big ol’ thing, come on, we gotta figure out what to do with ya.”
She sniffed. She felt weak, and hated that he had made her feel weak. “I-I’m going home right?” Rebecca thought that had been the deal, survive and go home.
“Well that’s one option, depends on what ya want to do. Ya have choices.”
Rebecca thought for a moment, and then responded quietly. “Clementine said people hate me.”
“Some a them do, that’s true. Crazy idea, I know, that someone would hate whoever killed their kiddo.”
Rebecca thought about that. Alderbrook was not a big town at all; that her year had nearly fifty students was abnormally high. There was no way she could escape all the negative attention that would be thrown her way. And then there was the issue of her family. She’d always been a bit of a failure compared to her sisters, and this wouldn’t help. Now it was the brain, the athlete, and the murderer.
Rebecca didn’t want to be the murderer.
She responded, her tone exasperated. “Well what are my other fuckin’ choices?”
“Well your second option, is ta have us drop you off a couple miles from the nearest town and let ya sort it from there.” The Sheriff’s smile returned, and he chuckled as he finished his statement, “but unless ya speak Spanish you’re probably gonna have some trouble.”
He was right, she had taken some French in school, but that was as far as she got with a 2nd language. It wasn’t like they had many Latinos that far north anyway. She looked down at her feet. She couldn’t do that either, so she’d just have to accept being the town murderer.
Her voice was scared. “A-any other choices?”
“Ya could join the Department.”
She blinked once. “What’s that?”
“Oh it’s a what we call ourselves round these parts.”
“Are you out of your fucking mind? I’m not a, a terrorist!”
“Ya killed a dozen people, most terrorists are lucky to kill a couple.”
The words stung, but it was true that she’d killed a lot. And if everyone hated her, did that make her decisions any better? Clementine had said she’d killed more than twice the next person. Was there any way to get her friends and family to believe she’d had a choice? No one else had chosen to go as far as her. She felt a wave of guilt, shame, and self-loathing wash over her.
The Sheriff continued, “you’re a quick draw, and as long as ya get your temper under control, ya could help us out a bit.”
Rebecca chewed on the inside of her cheek. She couldn’t face her family after all this, but could she work with the people responsible?
She blinked.
She thought she could.
“Fine, I’ll join your psycho group.”
They both stood up and shook hands.
“Welcome aboard, Deputy Clark.”
The room started to spin, and she felt like her face was being pulled on by a vacuum cleaner.
Then everything changed.
“Geddup bitch.”
Of fucking course.
She got out of the bed, the concrete floor feeling cold under her bare feet.
The man spoke something other than his signature phrase. “There’s clothes in the drawer over there. Get dressed and meet me outside. You’re meetin’ the sheriff today.”
That surprised her for whatever reason. She hadn’t given much thought to what would happen for the rest of her stay. Rebecca didn’t want to give a lot of thought to it. “Well you’re fuckin’ chatty today,” she remarked. The man didn’t react to her statement and went outside, as promised.
She opened the drawer, to inspect the clothes that had been left inside for her. Fresh underwear, that was useful. It also had light blue jeans, a checkered purple and white plaid shirt, and fuckin’ black leather cowboy boots. Now that part was just silly. She didn’t have much of a choice now did she? She had last had real choices a long time ago. Brushing that depressing thought aside, she got dressed in the new clothes and joined the man out in the hall.
The man didn’t act so chatty now. He just recognized that she was there and then led her down a maze of hallways. Despite the impatience she felt to get whatever was happening over with, she almost enjoyed the walk. There was something about being rested and no longer having a bullet wound in her leg that contributed to that.
Eventually the man knocked on a metal door and Rebecca heard a familiar voice say “Let er in.” With that the man opened the door, before walking off down the hallways again. She didn’t really want to go inside, but again, choice had been taken away from her. She made eye contact with the man behind the dark wooden desk inside, noticing the red beard and the silly cowboy hat. She sighed and took a seat in the provided metal folding chair.
“So you’re the Sheriff.”
“A’yup.”
They both sat in silence for a few moments. Rebecca felt the beginnings of anger deep in her gut. How could this sicko be so nonchalant after having orchestrated the deaths of roughly fifty kids? Her jaw clenched tightly.
The Sheriff smiled widely at her, revealing perfectly white and straight teeth. “So ye won, how’s that jerky taste?”
Rebecca’s mouth hung open for a moment, a brief second of confusion. It was such an odd expression. “Tastes like shit.” She scowled at him.
The Sheriff let out a chuckle, laugh lines creasing around his mouth. “But at least ya can taste it, eh?” His words hung in the air as Rebecca sat and thought.
Yes, she was glad to be alive, but being kept in a bunker by the terrorists that had taken her off the train wasn’t how she liked to imagine her life. “I guess so,” she said, sounding defeated. She slumped in the chair, no longer being able to meet the Sheriff’s gaze.
“I didn’t expect it, had ye pegged as an early out, or someone who’d need her friends to have a chance.” Rebecca sat there in stunned silence, for whatever reason she was surprised that the Sheriff had given much thought to who would survive. “You didn’t do either. Why?”
“I had to,” she responded, with a hint of anger hanging in the air between them. She remembered Clementine’s words, and the urge to throw something returned, like she had done with the pillow.
“Well maybe, but so many of your friends killed themselves on accident or through suicide, that I wonder if I’d given ya a few more days, if you woulda all died of natural causes.”
Rebecca’s hands clenched into fists in her lap, the anger continuing to rise. What was with these people? They told her to kill and she did it, and then once she’d done it, they acted like it was unnecessary or she had gone too far.
“Speakin’ of, your friend Amelia had a message to get passed onto ya.” Rebecca’s fists unclenched, her anger faded a bit. The guilt was back, telling her she was a shitty friend for focusing on herself in The Zone, instead of worrying about friends like Amelia. Amelia, who had jumped off a cliff instead of continuing to deal with that horrible place. “Samuel and Renee were s’posed to tell ya, but you weren’t in a listnin’ mood, now were ya?”
Rebecca’s voice was quiet. “What was it?” She was expecting something about how she was a horrible person, who deserved to die. That seemed to be the dominant opinion of people she came across. She was surprised she asked either, it wasn’t like Samuel or Renee had been holding her in particularly high opinion, especially Renee the leg shooter.
“Well uhh, long story short, she thought ye and Katie were great friends, uhh that she’d miss ya, and she was sorry about the tumblin’ down the mountain thing.”
Rebecca blinked once. Twice. Three times before the tears started to fall and a sob wracked her frame. Amelia had still thought she was great, and she had failed to look out for her friends at all. Heck, she was indirectly responsible for Katie falling off the train, and had been trying to kill her anyway. Would she still have thought Rebecca was a good friend now? She doubted it.
“Aw shit, that wasn’t s’posed to be a big ol’ thing, come on, we gotta figure out what to do with ya.”
She sniffed. She felt weak, and hated that he had made her feel weak. “I-I’m going home right?” Rebecca thought that had been the deal, survive and go home.
“Well that’s one option, depends on what ya want to do. Ya have choices.”
Rebecca thought for a moment, and then responded quietly. “Clementine said people hate me.”
“Some a them do, that’s true. Crazy idea, I know, that someone would hate whoever killed their kiddo.”
Rebecca thought about that. Alderbrook was not a big town at all; that her year had nearly fifty students was abnormally high. There was no way she could escape all the negative attention that would be thrown her way. And then there was the issue of her family. She’d always been a bit of a failure compared to her sisters, and this wouldn’t help. Now it was the brain, the athlete, and the murderer.
Rebecca didn’t want to be the murderer.
She responded, her tone exasperated. “Well what are my other fuckin’ choices?”
“Well your second option, is ta have us drop you off a couple miles from the nearest town and let ya sort it from there.” The Sheriff’s smile returned, and he chuckled as he finished his statement, “but unless ya speak Spanish you’re probably gonna have some trouble.”
He was right, she had taken some French in school, but that was as far as she got with a 2nd language. It wasn’t like they had many Latinos that far north anyway. She looked down at her feet. She couldn’t do that either, so she’d just have to accept being the town murderer.
Her voice was scared. “A-any other choices?”
“Ya could join the Department.”
She blinked once. “What’s that?”
“Oh it’s a what we call ourselves round these parts.”
“Are you out of your fucking mind? I’m not a, a terrorist!”
“Ya killed a dozen people, most terrorists are lucky to kill a couple.”
The words stung, but it was true that she’d killed a lot. And if everyone hated her, did that make her decisions any better? Clementine had said she’d killed more than twice the next person. Was there any way to get her friends and family to believe she’d had a choice? No one else had chosen to go as far as her. She felt a wave of guilt, shame, and self-loathing wash over her.
The Sheriff continued, “you’re a quick draw, and as long as ya get your temper under control, ya could help us out a bit.”
Rebecca chewed on the inside of her cheek. She couldn’t face her family after all this, but could she work with the people responsible?
She blinked.
She thought she could.
“Fine, I’ll join your psycho group.”
They both stood up and shook hands.
“Welcome aboard, Deputy Clark.”
The room started to spin, and she felt like her face was being pulled on by a vacuum cleaner.
Then everything changed.
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Courtography
- Posts: 518
- Joined: Tue Aug 07, 2018 11:03 pm
She would describe it as flying, except she couldn’t feel the air move around her. From above she could see the dirt prairie of The Zone beneath her, along with her own body walking around.
She wondered if she was hallucinating. She couldn’t feel or see her own body as she watched everything below. She could see that she was dressed in the stupid new clothes they had given her, and a revolver holstered on her hip.
Then words flashed in her visual perception.
CONGRATULATIONS PLAYER 35
CHARACTER: REBECCA CLARK
WEAPON: SHORTBOW
STAGE: THE WILD WEST
PLACEMENT: FIRST
SCORE: 12 (HIGH SCORE!)
Clearly she had lost it. She felt panic in her being. She was probably still in the hospital bed in the bunker, or someone hit her in the head and she was unconscious in The Zone, or, she felt a spot of hope, she was in bed at home and it was a the weirdest and most vivid dream she had ever experienced.
She felt suction on her face again and everything went black.
She wondered if she was hallucinating. She couldn’t feel or see her own body as she watched everything below. She could see that she was dressed in the stupid new clothes they had given her, and a revolver holstered on her hip.
Then words flashed in her visual perception.
CONGRATULATIONS PLAYER 35
CHARACTER: REBECCA CLARK
WEAPON: SHORTBOW
STAGE: THE WILD WEST
PLACEMENT: FIRST
SCORE: 12 (HIGH SCORE!)
Clearly she had lost it. She felt panic in her being. She was probably still in the hospital bed in the bunker, or someone hit her in the head and she was unconscious in The Zone, or, she felt a spot of hope, she was in bed at home and it was a the weirdest and most vivid dream she had ever experienced.
She felt suction on her face again and everything went black.
-
Courtography
- Posts: 518
- Joined: Tue Aug 07, 2018 11:03 pm
Everything was dark.
Her eyes felt too heavy to open.
She breathed deeply.
That was something. Before she couldn’t feel her eyelids of her own breathing. The breathing was strange though, felt heavier, like she was inhaling more air than usual.
She tried to move her arms and legs. They couldn’t move. It felt like giant cushions surrounded them.
Light shined through her eyelids. They were still too heavy to open. She heard distant voices. She wondered if she was hurt, if everything had just been a weird dream while she was in a coma.
She felt fingers press themselves to her eyelids and cried out in response. It sounded deep and not like her at all. It sounded like, like a man. She shivered as her eyelids were pushed open. The light was too intense and she was blind. Her limbs twitched, as she wanted to move, to run away.
She wanted to go home.
Her eyes refocused.
She saw what looked like a bored teenage boy in front of her. His shirt said Entertainment Inc. Gaming on it. A memory stirred in her mind.
“Well, good job, you won. Come up front when you’re ready and we’ll give you the prize.”
The mouth hung open and the body shook.
She saw the boy walk off after hitting a button. The inflated cushioning around the body slowly deflated.
She pulled the limbs out from inside the cushioning. She gagged as she saw they were covered in thick, dark body hair. Why was she, why was she in this thing? Tears dropped down the face. Where was she? What had happened to her? Had she been right about hallucinating?
She stepped out into the hall using too large feet attached to too long of legs. She shook the head. It felt so light, like it had almost no hair on it. She looked down the hallway, seeing the closed pods next to the one she had stepped out of. The eyes looked back and saw the facemask hanging from the ceiling above where the body had been strapped in.
The mask came down. He was excited. He had never played The Game before. Some of his friends had and he had been so jealous. The nose part of the mask squeezed a little too tight and he muttered an obscenity. His eyes felt heavy and they closed to blackness. He breathed deeply before feeling the mask suck his face tight against it. Then everything changed.
She used the muscly arm to hold the body against the wall. The breathing quickened. She was frightened of what the memory meant. She looked up, seeing a poster hung up on the wall.
The body curled up on the floor, sputtering and sobbing.
She wasn’t real.
She dug the fingernails into the flesh of palms. She felt the anger again, like when she had been challenged on her decision to kill her classmates. She thought it had been worth it, but she was just part of someone’s sick game. Mucus dripped from the nose as she thought of her friends and family.
She was just a big lie.
The giant baseball mitt hands covered the face. She didn’t want to look at this sick world. The fingernails scratched at the face, drawing light amounts of blood. She whimpered at the pain of it, but just felt the anger increase.
The fingernails from the right hand dug deeply into the flesh of the left forearm. She howled in pain. It wasn’t right for her to be some sick fuck’s entertainment. The blood flowed, and she kept using the hand to claw and scratch and dig. She was a winner, huh? Well she’d show them how she felt about winning. She bit down hard on the tongue.
She looked down at the bloodied hairy arm. She felt so sleepy. Darkness clouded her version and then the body was still.
F19: CLARK, REBECCA: GAME OVER
Her eyes felt too heavy to open.
She breathed deeply.
That was something. Before she couldn’t feel her eyelids of her own breathing. The breathing was strange though, felt heavier, like she was inhaling more air than usual.
She tried to move her arms and legs. They couldn’t move. It felt like giant cushions surrounded them.
Light shined through her eyelids. They were still too heavy to open. She heard distant voices. She wondered if she was hurt, if everything had just been a weird dream while she was in a coma.
She felt fingers press themselves to her eyelids and cried out in response. It sounded deep and not like her at all. It sounded like, like a man. She shivered as her eyelids were pushed open. The light was too intense and she was blind. Her limbs twitched, as she wanted to move, to run away.
She wanted to go home.
Her eyes refocused.
She saw what looked like a bored teenage boy in front of her. His shirt said Entertainment Inc. Gaming on it. A memory stirred in her mind.
“Well, good job, you won. Come up front when you’re ready and we’ll give you the prize.”
The mouth hung open and the body shook.
She saw the boy walk off after hitting a button. The inflated cushioning around the body slowly deflated.
She pulled the limbs out from inside the cushioning. She gagged as she saw they were covered in thick, dark body hair. Why was she, why was she in this thing? Tears dropped down the face. Where was she? What had happened to her? Had she been right about hallucinating?
She stepped out into the hall using too large feet attached to too long of legs. She shook the head. It felt so light, like it had almost no hair on it. She looked down the hallway, seeing the closed pods next to the one she had stepped out of. The eyes looked back and saw the facemask hanging from the ceiling above where the body had been strapped in.
The mask came down. He was excited. He had never played The Game before. Some of his friends had and he had been so jealous. The nose part of the mask squeezed a little too tight and he muttered an obscenity. His eyes felt heavy and they closed to blackness. He breathed deeply before feeling the mask suck his face tight against it. Then everything changed.
She used the muscly arm to hold the body against the wall. The breathing quickened. She was frightened of what the memory meant. She looked up, seeing a poster hung up on the wall.
VIRTUAL SURVIVAL OF THE FITTEST
Could you kill your best friend? Well you’re about to find out!
All her friends were dead. She had killed some. The eyes blinked. Virtual. Player 35.Could you kill your best friend? Well you’re about to find out!
The body curled up on the floor, sputtering and sobbing.
She wasn’t real.
She dug the fingernails into the flesh of palms. She felt the anger again, like when she had been challenged on her decision to kill her classmates. She thought it had been worth it, but she was just part of someone’s sick game. Mucus dripped from the nose as she thought of her friends and family.
She was just a big lie.
The giant baseball mitt hands covered the face. She didn’t want to look at this sick world. The fingernails scratched at the face, drawing light amounts of blood. She whimpered at the pain of it, but just felt the anger increase.
The fingernails from the right hand dug deeply into the flesh of the left forearm. She howled in pain. It wasn’t right for her to be some sick fuck’s entertainment. The blood flowed, and she kept using the hand to claw and scratch and dig. She was a winner, huh? Well she’d show them how she felt about winning. She bit down hard on the tongue.
She looked down at the bloodied hairy arm. She felt so sleepy. Darkness clouded her version and then the body was still.
F19: CLARK, REBECCA: GAME OVER
-
Courtography
- Posts: 518
- Joined: Tue Aug 07, 2018 11:03 pm
He had woken up in the nurse’s office at the arcade. They had told him that he’d had an accident coming out of The Game. His left arm was all stitched and bandaged and his tongue kind of hurt.
They had reminded him of the waiver he had signed before playing The Game.
He didn’t think it was that big of a deal. He had won and that was the fucking coolest. He couldn’t wait to tell his friends that he had won The Game on his first try. They couldn’t claim that. None of them had managed to win yet.
After that they’d given him the winner’s prize. It was a sick as fuck t-shirt. It said Survival of the Fittest on the front. On the back it had a sheriff’s badge and the phrase “Kill ‘em or Die”. When the game had started it had been super scary to hear that, but now it seemed like a pretty badass thing to say.
He was amazed that he’d been fully in his character’s head during that. It had been so believable. Plus the graphics had been excellent.
As he walked out the door of the arcade into the winter air, he thought to himself that he might bring a friend the next time around.
Virtua-SOTF: GAME COMPLETE
They had reminded him of the waiver he had signed before playing The Game.
He didn’t think it was that big of a deal. He had won and that was the fucking coolest. He couldn’t wait to tell his friends that he had won The Game on his first try. They couldn’t claim that. None of them had managed to win yet.
After that they’d given him the winner’s prize. It was a sick as fuck t-shirt. It said Survival of the Fittest on the front. On the back it had a sheriff’s badge and the phrase “Kill ‘em or Die”. When the game had started it had been super scary to hear that, but now it seemed like a pretty badass thing to say.
He was amazed that he’d been fully in his character’s head during that. It had been so believable. Plus the graphics had been excellent.
As he walked out the door of the arcade into the winter air, he thought to himself that he might bring a friend the next time around.
Virtua-SOTF: GAME COMPLETE